rang the four quarters on a light and tinkling measure; then

followed a single deep stroke that died slowly away with a thrill;

and stillness resumed its empire.

"One," said Leon. "Four hours till daylight. It is warm; it is

starry; I have matches and tobacco. Do not let us exaggerate,

Elvira - the experience is positively charming. I feel a glow

within me; I am born again. This is the poetry of life. Think of

Cooper's novels, my dear."

"Leon," she said fiercely, "how can you talk such wicked, infamous

nonsense? To pass all night out-of-doors - it is like a nightmare!

We shall die."

"You suffer yourself to be led away," he replied soothingly. "It

is not unpleasant here; only you brood. Come, now, let us repeat a

scene. Shall we try Alceste and Celimene? No? Or a passage from

the 'Two Orphans'? Come, now, it will occupy your mind; I will

play up to you as I never have played before; I feel art moving in

my bones."

"Hold your tongue," she cried, "or you will drive me mad! Will

nothing solemnise you - not even this hideous situation?"

"Oh, hideous!" objected Leon. "Hideous is not the word. Why,

where would you be? 'Dites, la jeune belle, ou voulez-vous

aller?'" he carolled. "Well, now," he went on, opening the guitar-

case, "there's another idea for you - sing. Sing 'Dites, la jeune

belle!' It will compose your spirits, Elvira, I am sure."

And without waiting an answer he began to strum the symphony. The

first chords awoke a young man who was lying asleep upon a

neighbouring bench.

"Hullo!" cried the young man, "who are you?"

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>